


Consequential

by Perditus



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:03:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2487143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perditus/pseuds/Perditus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micchi is trying to study but Peco is <i>sooooo</i> bored. Somehow they end up talking about Zawame, Inves, Charmant's cakes, and...adulthood? It's probably a good thing weapons were banned from the blanket fort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequential

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KaneNogami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaneNogami/gifts).



It was a peaceful afternoon, though perhaps an emphasis on the past-tense _was_ was necessary. Simply because one second Micchi was staring down at his textbook, _studying_ , and the next second Peco’s head was in his lap and his lips turned downwards into a small, cute pout.

“I’m bored.” He whined, before wriggling on the couch to maneuver himself into a more comfortable position, settling himself more firmly on the other. Micchi tried to wrestle the book out from underneath his head. It was ridiculous what he’d use as a pillow.

“I’m studying. Go away.” He tried to snap, but probably sounded more like an exasperated, middle-aged parent. The younger victoriously pulled the book free, finally, and promptly placed the heavy item right atop Peco’s face. He felt Peco’s nose shift at the sudden weight, muscles endeavoring to find a freedom from it and failing. Eventually his arms came up to harshly push the object away.

“Oi!” He protested. “Don’t be a brat.”

Micchi raised an eyebrow, and Peco’s face flushed when he realized was the other was trying to wordlessly imply— _you’re the one being childish here._

“But seriously.” The older huffed, brushing a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. He had ceased to dye it a chestnut color when he left Zawame behind. Perhaps he wanted to forget every reminder of the invasion, or to somehow prove to himself that he was over the despair of the past.

Neither of them would be completely over it, and neither of them would forget.

“Go…play a video game or something.” The suggestion was lame, and even Micchi thought so—despite having been the one to say it. It showed by the look his face, something caught between a grimace at how he sounded and a stubborn means to stand by his words.

“I’ve beaten it three times.” He wasn’t specific about which one, and the ex-Baron dancer narrowed his eyes, frustrated at his predicament, and his pout turned into pursed lips. Micchi gave him a hard look. “Fine—only twice. Still!”

Finally, the taller boy seemed to accept that no more studying would go on—not as long as his boyfriend was in the room, insisting on having his full and undivided attention. He closed the textbook with more than necessary, only a little satisfied at how Peco startled at the sudden noise.

“So, what?” Micchi bit out irritably, crossing his arms over his chest. He disliked being interrupted from whatever task was at hand. “You want me to entertain you?”

Peco had that look in his eye that was his only warning that a sexual innuendo or inappropriate joke would be made at his expense. The tips of Micchi’s ears heated up in embarrassment at the realization.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Peco mocked in a much higher octave meant to represent the other’s voice. Which was ridiculous, if he could add, because Peco’s voice still _cracked_ sometimes, like he was going through puberty again. “You’ve been studying for way too long. I’m getting bored just watching you.”

 _Then turn away._ The words were probably too immature, though. Instead of saying that, Micchi only sighed again. Peco suddenly sat up straight as though there was a wire running through his spine and pulling him upright, his eyes practically sparkling as a light bulb lit up over his head. Metaphorically, of course. “I got it!” He cried, and Micchi was almost afraid to ask what _‘it’_ just so happened to entail. “Stand up for a sec.”

“Why?” The younger complied anyway, raising his eyebrows at the way Peco began to pull the cushions from the couch with seemingly no rhyme or reason. It took a moment for him to truly understand what the other was trying to accomplish.

“Go get blankets.” Peco didn’t look up from his task.

“This is ridiculous.” Micchi muttered, but continued to do what was requested of him. Requested, not ordered. He didn’t respond to orders very well. Nevertheless he disappeared into the bedroom for only a few moments, returning later with brightly colored bundles of cloth folded in a pile in his arms. Peco was trying to balance the cushions upright, in the meantime.

“Your face is ridiculous.”

“Did it take you that long to think of a response?”

Micchi got a cushion thrown at his face.

It wasn’t entirely undeserved.

“Get over here and help me.” They worked in silence for the next few minutes, until the fort was deemed acceptable (by Peco), and he crawled inside the space before poking his head out with a scowl. “Hurry up, jerk.”

Micchi could say something like ‘ _I can’t believe I’m doing this_ ’ but that would be a lie, so he kept his mouth shut. There was hardly enough room for the both of them, but at least it was warm. The heating in their flat sucked. His elbow hit something soft—something that felt suspiciously like Peco’s stomach.

“Ow!”

“Stop moving around so much.” It was an impossible request (considering who he was talking to, the boy who never stopped moving and only lacked energy when sick or injured) and Peco let out a few more loud complaints. “Your feet are cold!”

“Deal with it.” Peco stuck his tongue out at Micchi (at least, he thought that’s what he saw but it was a little difficult to see with the lack of light). There were a few more moments of their bodies continuing to shift until a position was found where they didn’t feel like they were strangling each other.

Or about to.

“We could get ice-cream. Later, I mean.” Micchi was lying on his back, and he could practically hear the wheels in the older boy’s mind turning. Carefully considering the proposal.

“Are you kidding?” He eventually spoke. “It’s fucking freezing out.”

The ex-Gaim dancer might have gaped at him. “That never stopped you before!” In fact, it was difficult to try to leave the supermarket without having his boyfriend try to sneak a box of popsicles or other cold treat into the cart.

“Whatever.” The tone was dismissive. “Although I could eat some cake right now.”

“Hm?” As though questioning where the line of thought came from.

“Cake, ice-cream. They go together, don’t you know anything?” Peco flicked the side of Micchi’s forehead, and the other scowled deeply at him. It wasn’t worth it to retaliate. Probably. “Like, especially one of Charmant’s.”

There was a strange pause at the mention of the bakery, and suddenly the conversation was a lot more like treading on thin ice. One wrong step and they’d be plunging into the abyss—icy cold water beneath them.

“Nii-san enjoys their pastries.” Micchi’s voice was careful, almost sounding like it was forcibly light. “Apparently Jonouchi is becoming quite the pâtissier.” The people they once knew was also a delicate topic, as Peco was aware that Micchi had burned most of his bridges and didn’t know where to start rebuilding them.

Instead of commenting on any of that, Peco snorted. “He better. He’s been with Oren-san for way too long to continue sucking.”

“Do you ever think about them, sometimes?” Micchi’s voice dropped into something far quieter—a contemplative tone that the older boy hadn’t quite figured out for himself yet and usually ended up deflecting.

“Huh?”

“Forget it.” Ah, they were both great at avoiding uncomfortable subjects, but maybe for once they should actually face it.

“No, wait, what do you mean?” Peco knew their limits and he wouldn’t push too far—hopefully. He wasn’t always the greatest at reining his emotions in. “I don’t… _not_ think about them. Why won’t you be straight to the point?”

The answer was probably obvious. “I said forget it.” His voice turned sharp, and the conversation would quickly become unsalvageable if one of them didn’t do something about it.

“You brought it up. Don’t. Be. A. Brat.” It was clearly one of his favorite insults to throw at the younger, mocking him for their almost-year age difference, and each word of the sentence was accentuated by a harsh poke to Micchi’s side that left him hissing. “You’re talking about the invasion, aren’t you?”

Another nasty look was sent his direction. He could practically _feel_ it, and he would have grinned had the topic at hand not been so serious—it felt like a heavy weight on his heart that threatened to crush him.

“…almost.” Micchi cleared his throat, moving his shoulders and moving in such a way that his hair just barely brushed against Peco’s arm. “I meant…anyone in the past, really.”

“I don’t _not_ think about them.” Mm, he wasn’t a coward though. “It’s hard not to, sometimes.” He admitted, as though hastily correcting his earlier (repeated) statement. “A lot of people died.” It wasn’t in his nature to be anything but blunt, even if his words were more than often used as a weapon.

He wasn’t quite as good as Micchi though, and that was a fact that would haunt the both of them forever, probably. Especially considering all that he had managed to twist up into unrecognizable shapes (including himself).

“…I know.” At least the younger was able to recognize that the words weren’t meant to hurt him—they were just the truth, and the truth was used as a weapon. No further curtain had to be pulled over their eyes. “I see it every time I—”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Peco’s voice was low and furious, and Micchi blinked from the sheer ferocity of it. “You don’t get to do that.”

He was not the only one to suffer.

But an apology could only go so far.

“I know you’re sorry.” The older didn’t sound quite as angry with this statement, but the hidden acerbity in his voice was like a humming energy under his skin. It was something Micchi was unaccustomed to seeing—or rather, hearing, from him. “And I’ve…forgiven you about the past.” That didn’t make it right. Nothing could excuse his actions.

Forgiveness was not a blanket ideal. It was a pretty word that could be written in cursive and all kinds of scripture but never transpired into reality, and Micchi knew that better than anyone else, probably.

“Yeah.” Was what he responded with, in a quiet voice that almost didn’t fit him. Still, he was done with pitying himself. It had gotten him nowhere and accomplished nothing, and he inhaled deeply through his nose as he stared at the top of the blanket fort.

These really weren’t the kinds of conversations to be held in such a place. Peco slung his arm over Micchi’s torso. “But it was also kinda a shitty move that your brother distributed all those lockseeds out.”

He hummed in agreement. “He thought he was doing the right thing.” Through it all he still felt the need to defend his brother, who honestly thought it was the only way to save even a fraction of humanity.

“Well…we were kids.” Although Peco blamed Takatora even less for what had occurred with the Inves and the invasion. It helped that Micchi had consistently kept in contact with his brother, and the older boy overheard their skype calls all the time. It wasn’t hard to empathize with the man and his deadly ultimatum.

“A _kid_ practically saved the world.” Micchi turned his head, daring him to challenge the validity of his words. Then again, a _kid_ also practically destroyed it, so maybe his point was a little skewed.

“No fair! Kouta was— _is_ twenty. That’s an adult.” The past tense was not lost on him, and both of the boys had to suddenly blink back tears for entirely different reasons. The moment seemed to pass over them within a few seconds.

“You think Kouta-san was an adult?” Micchi snorted. While he certainly pulled through in the end, it was really his naivety that let him go on. Or his hope—it was still an abstract concept he didn’t think he’d ever understand.

“More than you are!” Such a clever comeback. (Not really.) The conversation was going infinitely better than Peco could have hoped, so perhaps he was being immature on purpose. It kept the atmosphere from crushing them, at the very least. “…I miss them.” Or not. He had the sudden feeling that being truthful here was a greater justice than pretending nothing had happened at all.

“I do too.” Micchi didn’t dismiss him, for once, so it was a victory. Or as close as it got to one, since nobody ever really won. The ex-Baron dancer wasn’t sure how much time passed after that—it could have been a minute or a few hours.

They were mourning the dead and the gone.

“…hey, Micchi?”

“What?”

“…we should get ice cream.”

“ _Are you kidding me.”_


End file.
